


love at first (blurred) sight

by ohthelinsanity



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, it's just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3822646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohthelinsanity/pseuds/ohthelinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 10:30 at night and Makoto's in a supermarket without his glasses, unable to read the stupid labels on the canned foods. Haruka happens to be the only other soul in the store and takes pity on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love at first (blurred) sight

**Author's Note:**

> this was an au prompt on tumblr im borrowing it.

It’s 10:30 at night when Makoto finds himself completely helpless at a 24 hour supermarket.

Okay, _yeah_ , he totally should have taken care of the shopping a little earlier when the sun was out and there was someone other than the Most Bored man picking the nail polish off his fingers at the only open check-out station. But he has an _excuse:_ after being awake for roughly 50 hours straight studying for the _living nightmare_ that was his midterm, it was absolutely crucial that Makoto totally check out for about 18 hours and sleep because organic chemistry sucks and sometimes life is hard.

It’s especially hard when Makoto realizes he’s left his glasses at his house.

The whole thing is pretty alarming since he _drove_ to the store. It’s a route he’s taken a million times and while he’s not that horrifically visually impaired, Makoto should have been able to tell that he couldn’t really _read_ the damn road signs.

Much like he can’t read any of the signs on the canned foods.

He knows he should turn away and just walk down the cereal aisle and just live off Fruit Loops for the next week and a half but he _can’t._ His siblings are coming to visit tomorrow and if he can’t give them a good meal to report to their mother to prove he can take care of himself, he’s screwed.

As he rolls the can in his hands, squinting like he has chlorine in his eyes, he thinks he might have to consider getting another prescription if it’s this bad. He holds it close to his face and then far, but no change in perspective is making the blurriness go away.

The picture on the can is kind of hard to make out, but he definitely thinks he’s grabbed a can of tomatoes, which is step one. Now, all he has to do is figure out what kind—

“It’s diced tomatoes.”

Makoto nearly jumps out of his skin and looks to the side to find someone has come to his rescue. He doesn’t seem to be wearing a nametag so it’s not an employee, but rather a kind stranger, the only other damn person in the store, taking absolute pity on his blind ass. “Oh, okay,” he smiles. “Thanks!”

The man nods and starts to walk away, but only makes it about two steps before he stops and turns back around slowly, sneakers squeaking on the tile. “How blind are you?”

He sighs, running his hands through his hair before giving a nervous chuckle. “Apparently a little more than I thought,” he tells him. “I forgot my glasses at home.”

“What’s your vision score?”

“…Uh, pardon?”

The man sets his basket down on the floor and starts rummaging through the sports bag he has slung on one shoulder. Makoto spots two jammers and a pair of goggles before he pulls out a pair of red glasses. “Your vision score. I wanted to see if it matched.”

“Oh!” Makoto exclaims. “It’s uh…” he has to think, and in the end he comes up dry. “I don’t know.” He admits. Who memorizes their vision score? Is that a thing? Does he need to know that? He mentally puts it on his List of Things to Ask My Mother When I Call Her Next.

“Well,” The man holds his arm out just a bit farther. “Try them anyway.”

It’s sweet, Makoto thinks, that this man would let him borrow his glasses. Sweet, yes, but kind of strange; he can’t just take them and walk around the store to finish his shopping. He can’t exactly keep them. But nonetheless, he puts on his best smile (it isn’t really that hard) and puts on the glasses.

He holds the can of tomatoes up to his face. It’s still a smidge blurry but it’s damn better than it was before. Makoto can see individual letters and everything. “Oh!” He almost does a little dance right then and there. “Hunts diced tomatoes! Perfect, thank you!” He looks back down at the man, now a bit less fuzzy and bites back a noise of surprise.

His eyes are a very, very _very_ pretty blue.

The man nods, gesturing to the can. “That what you wanted?”

Oh, it’s not even _close._

“Yes.”

“You’re lying, aren’t you.”

Goddamn it.

Makoto’s shoulders slouch in defeat. “I need tomato _paste_.”

The guy’s eyes flicker over to the shelves before he plucks a can in record speed. “Here. I use this one. It’s the best.”

“Oh, okay,” Makoto muses, glancing it at before putting it in his basket. He lifts his arm and puts the diced tomatoes back on the top shelf where they belong.

“What are you making?” The guy asks, reaching down to pick up his basket. He nods his head in a way that Makoto believes means he wants him to follow, so he does.

“Well, I’m trying to make a pizza.”

Blue Eyes makes a small clicking noise. “Ah.” He glances at the basket Makoto has and frowns when he sees the frozen pizza crust he got from the freezer aisle. “It’s cheaper to make your own dough.”

Makoto laughs. “I don’t know how to make dough.”

“It’s pretty easy. You probably already have the ingredients, too.” Suddenly, blue eyes stops at the end of the soup aisle and tugs on Makoto’s sleeve and points to the ramen cups at the top of the shelf. “Grab one of the shrimp flavor ones.”

He can’t help it—Makoto pulls a face. “For the pizza?”

Blue Eyes tosses him a flat look, but Makoto notices pink is worked into the equation, dusted along his cheeks. “No. For me. I can’t reach it.”

Makoto laughs lightly and grabs the correct ramen cup. “Compensation for lending me your glasses?”

“More like I don’t want to stand on my tiptoes like an idiot if I don’t have to. But you can go with that.”

His smile comes easy.  “Fair enough,” and tosses it into Blue Eyes basket. “You know for all your cooking advice, I’m surprised you eat this stuff.”

The man shakes his head. “I don’t,” he says flatly. “I’m not allowed. It’s for my roommate. He’s pretty busy splicing atoms or whatever it is he does and doesn’t have time to cook.”

That is…quite a sentence. Makoto gathers enough sense that the “splitting atoms” is a joke but he can’t but hang on to the strange choice of, “Not…allowed?”

He shakes his athletic bag. “Swim team. Strict diet rules.”

Makoto is a little familiar with sports diets—he was on the swim team in high school with his old friend Nagisa, but he remembers being able to eat ramen now and then. This guy must swim for something a little more important than a barely breathing school club. “Where do you swim?”

Blue eyes tilts his bag and Makoto can _barely_ read the letters but eventually he makes out _National Swim Team—Haruka Nanase_ and his jaw goes _slack._ “Wow! You’re on the national team! That’s incredible. You must be amazing.”

Again, the guy (Haruka, apparently) just shrugs, but the pink is back on his cheeks. “I’m not all that special.”

Makoto shakes his head in disagreement as the make it out of the perishables and towards the produce in the back. “I was the captain of our swim team in high school, but we weren’t all that good. Our team never won a trophy.”

“If you like swimming, then that’s all that matters,” he says firmly. “I just happened to be good at it, that’s all.” They’re at the greens and there’s a lull in the conversation as Haruka stuffs a plastic bag full of green beans. When he’s done and he ties it in a little knot, he gives Makoto a thorough look over. “You did backstroke, yes?”

Okay, that’s a bit freaky. “How’d you know?”

“From your muscles.” Again, Haruka wiggles his bag. “I’m a professional. Freestyle.”

At this point, Makoto thinks it’s rude to not have introduced himself, especially when he knows his name. “Right.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Makoto, by the way.”

“Haru,” he murmurs, taking his hand—Makoto notices his hands are a little chapped, probably from all the chlorine. He clears his throat as he grabs another bag and starts filling it with snap peas. “Who’s this pizza for?”

Makoto blinks a few times. Oh yeah. He’s here to buy stuff for a pizza. “It’s for my little brother and sister. They’re coming up to see me for the weekend while my parents take a trip.”

“How old are they?”

“They’re both 12.”

Haru nods to the dairy section. “Go grab mozzarella cheese sticks, as well as a shredded pack of mixed Italian cheese.”

While Haru finishes up collecting all his vegetables, Makoto does as he asks. He returns and Haru puts a small bag of spinach in his basket. “Cook that a little before you put it on the pizza. As for the tomato paste, it will need a little water, and you can’t forget to use flour on the dough. If you think you have enough, add a little more because you probably don’t. Spray the pan, too.” He pauses. “I’d just stick with pepperoni this time. Add a little Italian sausage if you’re feeling adventurous.”

Adventurous? He still doesn’t know how to make the dough. Nor does he know what the cheese sticks are for. “What do I do with…?”

“Wrap the dough around them—makes cheese stuffed crust. Kids love that.”

Pretty, athletic and a genius? It was almost too much.

“That’s brilliant,” Makoto murmurs. He’s sure Ren and Ran will declare him a master chef if he can pull off a homemade cheese stuffed pizza. Key words being “pull off”. “I just hope I don’t screw it up.”

“You won’t,” Haru tells him, voice a little distant as he inspects the best mangos. “It’s not that hard.”

Yeah, okay, but Haru probably never caught his kitchen on fire trying to make scrambled eggs. Four times.

“Four?” and as a smirk stretches across Haru’s face Makoto realizes that he’s said that _out loud._

“I’m not the best cook,” Makoto admits, and he suddenly feels a little inferior. Here he is standing next to a master cook and professional swimmer, perfecting the things he was never really good at.

“I mix up detergent and bleach in the laundry and I always manage to nick my legs shaving,” Haru tells him, and while it’s a silly and a bit random statement, it speaks volumes, and Makoto smiles, slow and wide, feeling grateful.

“Guess we can’t be good at everything, huh?”

Haru returns his smile, a faint and gentle one.

They stand there looking at each other long enough to be embarrassing, and Makoto’s just glad they’re the only ones in the store. He looks down and realizes he’s got pretty much everything he needs for tomorrow’s dinner. “Oh, here!” he slides the red-rimmed glasses off his face. “Thanks for letting me borrow them.”

“No,” Haru shakes his head, “Keep them. For now. So you can get home, since I suspect you drove. Though I don’t really know _how._ ”

Blush aside, he asks, “But…..don’t you need them?”

“They’re not mine, they’re Rei’s spares. He left them in my bag when he borrowed it for the gym once.” He waves his hand, motioning for him to put them back on. “I’m sure he won’t miss them if they’re gone for a day.”

Honestly, the glasses help a _little_ bit but in the end, he thinks he can get back home without them. After all he drove here and made it alive. “Oh, I couldn’t—when will I be able to give them back to you?”

Haru stands there and Makoto can see him rolling his tongue against his cheek, just a little. “On second thought,” he drawls. “You’ll mess it up.”

“Eh?”

“The pizza. You’ll probably mess it up.”

“ _Eh!?”_

“You’ll need help.”

Makoto frowns, feeling a little off put. “Yeah, but who’s gonna—”

Oh. 

_Oh._

“Oh,” he finally whispers. Blue eyes stare at him intently, gentle, waiting. “Uh, I guess…I can give them back to you tomorrow. That is, if you…if you come over and help.” He swallows. “With the pizza. Help me with the pizza.”

Makoto doesn’t need glasses to see his smile.

“Sure.”


End file.
